


Woke Up Late

by EternalAgape



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Don't copy to another site, Even though it hasn’t, Insecure Katsuki Yuuri, Let’s pretend Rostelecom Cup has been held in Saint Petersburg in the last few years okay?, M/M, Makkachin make a cameo, Morning After, Sleeping with strangers, So that might make it dubious consent, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, mentions of drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalAgape/pseuds/EternalAgape
Summary: After a disappointing finish at the Rostelecom Cup, Yuuri gets drunk and wakes up in the bed of a stranger...who just so happens to be his soulmate and just so happens to be Viktor Nikiforov.Shameless excuse for a short soulmate AU filled with Yuuri feeling like a failure and Viktor already being desperately in love with him.





	Woke Up Late

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by the song “Woke Up Late” by Drax Project and Hailee Steinfeld. Super vaguely. Definitely listen to it though.

Yuuri woke up, eyes blinking against the harsh sunlight streaming through the window.  It was much brighter than it should have been – had he slept through his alarm?

He threw his arm to the right, trying to reach for his cell phone on the hotel table, only to instead make contact with a very warm, very _naked_ body.

Yuuri froze.  _Oh no_.  What had happened last night?

Rostelecom Cup…coming in fourth by less than a point…not being invited to the gala…and then he had gone to…

Oh no.  With a groan, Yuuri quickly took his hand back from the stranger next to him and covered his eyes.  Yuuri had gone to a _bar_ , of all places.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle his alcohol; it’s that he usually _could_ that was the problem, so the line between pleasantly sloshed and drunk off his ass was often very thin, and with the disappointment of his first Grand Prix assignment of the season, he surely would have been a little freer with his money at the bar.  He might have pulled another Grand Prix Final gala – if only he could remember what had happened _that_ time.

There was a table next to the left side of the bed closest to Yuuri, but his glasses and his cell phone were nowhere in sight – not that Yuuri could see much without his glasses.  Squinting, he was able to make out the numbers on the digital clock: 12:24, and judging by the light, that _couldn’t_ be just after midnight.  He had somehow slept half the day away.

He was afraid to move and wake the stranger, but he also wanted to run back to his hotel and pretend none of this happened, but at the same time, he needed to _know_.

His curiosity won out as Yuuri rolled to face the mystery man he had spent the night with – and, if the soreness in his body, the very conspicuous bruises on his shoulder, and the fact that he was _naked in a stranger’s bed_ were any indicator, done more than just slept next to.

Despite Yuuri’s blurred vision, he could make out a few distinguishing features.  The man was on his stomach, rolled towards the bright window so only the back of his head was visible.  He had gray hair – _dammit please don’t let me have slept with some old guy_ – that Yuuri desperately wanted to run his fingers through.  His back was flawless, pale skin and incredibly muscular.  ( _Thank goodness, then; I probably didn’t sleep with someone old enough to be my father_.)  And then, down lower, just barely visible above the crisp white sheets that covered the man’s hips…

It all came back to him in a rush: how he had drank a little too much, fell into the arms of some gorgeous guy, danced the night away, walked back to the man’s apartment, and spent an incredible night together – made all the better when, despite Yuuri’s blurry vision, he had discovered the small soulmark on the man’s body.  Even in his drunken stupor, Yuuri had been quite able to recognize its all-too-familiar shape: the delicate outline of a cherry blossom with the edges of a crystalline snowflake peeking out between its petals.

After all, Yuuri had traced the same shape on his lower abdomen every day for nearly twenty-four years.

Yuuri couldn’t help himself anymore: he reached out, his hand shaking, until he touched the cherry blossom, letting the smooth pads of his fingers caress the petals of the small bloom.  He had found his soulmate.  His _soulmate_.  He had gotten drunk and _slept_ with his soulmate.

Yuuri turned away from the stranger, glancing around the room to try and get his bearings.  It was a bedroom, definitely someone’s apartment or house and not one of the host hotels for the competition.  So, probably not a skater, then.  There was a pile of what looked like clothing near his side of the bed, and he dearly hoped his phone was in there somewhere.  And his glasses.  And his wallet.

It was a relatively nondescript room.  Had he found some random Russian man at the bar?  Would they have ever met if Yuuri hadn’t come in fourth and decided to get a little drunk to forget about it?  What had Yuuri told the man when they met?  Did he give his name?

…had the man watched the competition on television?

Yuuri knew how popular skating was in Russia, and if nothing else, the final few skaters would have been aired since Viktor Nikiforov had skated in the same group.  Going into the free skate, Yuuri had been in second place – he skated right after Viktor, so his performance would have been aired, too.

Had the man watched?  What had he thought?  Would his soulmate want a failure like him?

Yuuri’s anxiety could never let a moment like this be truly happy.  He once again considered the probability of making it out of the stranger’s bed, dressing, and finding his way out of the apartment before the man woke.

A scratching sound at the closed bedroom door caused Yuuri to jump and forget any hopes of escaping unnoticed.  He _really_ hoped his mystery soulmate had a dog, or else he had _more_ to worry about (could bears break into apartments in Russia? what about wolves?).  Yuri watched as a shadow moved beneath the door, moving back and forth as if the creature were pacing.  The animal exhaled a heavy breath, sniffing around the door jam, before giving a gentle _boof!_ that finally allowed Yuuri to relax slightly.

Good.  Just a dog, them.

Except Yuuri couldn’t relax for long.  On the floor next to the white door was a very familiar shape: a skate bag.

Of _course_ he fell into bed with a skater.  They had probably watched his disastrous free skate – _it wasn’t_ that _bad,_ he reminded himself, _one fall and a popped jump_ – and wouldn’t want him.  He was Katsuki Yuuri – a nobody skater, dime a dozen in Japan, lucky to have gotten Grand Prix assignments this year after his shameful placement at the Grand Prix Final last year.  Who would want _that_?  Who would want _him_?

Yuuri was disrupted from his spiraling thoughts by a feather-light touch on his abdomen, gentle circles being rubbed right where his soulmark was.

His mystery man was awake.

Yuuri turned his head back to the stranger, reveling in the feel of those fingers on his soulmark.  “Yuuri,” the man said warmly, his Russian accent letting the name roll off his tongue so gently, so beautifully – it was unlike how anyone had ever said Yuuri’s name before.  “Dobroye utra, solnyshko,” the man said, his voice thick with the last remnants of a deep slumber.  The man’s fingers continued to reverently caress the fractal cherry blossom on Yuuri’s stomach.

Yuuri rolled onto his side, dislodging the stranger’s fingers from his skin.  The moment the contact was gone, though, he strangely wished he hadn’t moved.  He wanted that feeling back.

Squinting against the bright sun and the blurriness of his vision, he tried to make out the stranger’s face now.  It was…familiar, but with the softened edges without his glasses, he couldn’t quite place all the features.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Yuuri – English, Vitya; _English_ ,” the man scolded himself with a laugh.  “Did you sleep well?”

“I- have you seen my glasses?” Yuuri asked, then felt like an absolute idiot as soon as the words had left his mouth.  _Nice going, Yuuri.  Your soulmate wakes up, asks how you are, and you ask about your glasses?  Nobody’s going to want a soulmate that stupid._

“Of course!  Let me just look for those,” the man said, flashing Yuuri a brilliant smile as he rolled out of bed.  And-

Okay.  He had a _fantastic_ butt.  Yuuri could see that even _without_ his glasses.

Yuuri tried not to stare too long at the stranger, especially when he bent down to pick something up off the floor before slipping back into the bed.

“Your glasses, lyubov.”  Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what the word meant, but by the way the man said it – carefully, as if the word were precious, as if _Yuuri_ were precious – he hoped he would hear it again.

Yuuri murmured a ‘thank you’ as he accepted the glasses, his fingers brushing with the stranger’s.  He slid them on carefully, staring at the wall of bookcases that he could now clearly see lined the opposite wall from the bed.

He turned towards the stranger, glancing from his toned stomach up to his face, and froze.  Yuuri knew that face – of _course_ he knew that face.  He had seen that face every day at home looking down at him from the poster commemorating his first World Championship title.

“Viktor,” Yuuri choked out, feeling both stunned and utterly humiliated.  _Viktor Nikiforov_ was his soulmate.  _Viktor Nikiforov_ , undeniably the best figure skater of their time, was somehow the soulmate of _Katsuki Yuuri_ , failure of Japan.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said with a smile.  “I’m so glad I found you.”  And then those gentle fingers were on Yuuri’s stomach again, brushing against the cherry blossom that tied them together, that meant they were _soulmates_.

“No,” Yuuri whispered.  “I can’t be your soulmate.  There’s…there has to be a mistake because nobody would want _me_ \- you don’t want some failure as your…”  The words were coming fast, barely making any coherent sense as they flew past his lips.  Yuuri’s breathing quickened, coming in jarring gasps as his body began to tremble.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked with concern, his fingers stilling on the soulmark.  “Yuuri, it’s alright.  You’re safe here.  Come here; I’ve got you,” he said, rolling closer and burying his face in the crevice of Yuuri’s neck.  His hand moved away from the soulmark, reaching around to rub soothing circles on his soulmate’s back.  “I’ve got you, Yuuri.  Just listen to me, okay?  Let’s take deep breaths.  In and out.  There you go, just like that.”

Viktor’s words were like an anchor in the turmoil of his anxious thoughts, keeping him steady and strong despite the strength of the whirlpool that was pulling him down.  Gradually, Yuuri’s breathing began to slow back to a normal rhythm.  “There you go, lyubov.  That’s it.  I’ve got you,” Viktor continued to murmur as Yuuri calmed down from the panic attack.

“Thank you, V-Viktor,” Yuuri responded shakily.

They laid in silence for a while.  Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was seconds, minutes, hours, but each moment that the quiet stretched on itched at him, causing his anxiety to prickle in his mind.  “I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, refusing to meet Viktor’s blue eyes.

“Sorry?  You have nothing to be sorry for, Yuuri.  I’m so glad I _found_ you again.”  Viktor sounded so relieved – so _happy,_ even – that Yuuri felt even guiltier.

“But you’re…you’re _stuck_ with me.  I wouldn’t blame you if you ignored your mark, if you got something tattooed over it…”  Yuuri tried to make it sound like covering it up wouldn’t bother him, but it _would_.  People rarely had their marks covered; when they did, it was normally for something extreme: their soulmate had died and they couldn’t bear to look at the mark anymore or their soulmate was somehow so repulsive that they didn’t want their skin marred by the design for a minute longer.

Although it hurt, Yuuri wouldn’t blame Viktor if he fell into the latter category.

“Get something tattooed…”  Viktor grabbed Yuuri’s waist, feeling the lingering shaking in Yuuri’s body.  “Yuuri, why would I ever do something like that?”

“I’m a _failure_ ,” Yuuri explained, although he wasn’t should why he would need to.  Didn’t _everyone_ know what a failure he was?  “Why would you…how could you…why did you even _talk_ to me last night?” Yuuri asked desperately.

“Why wouldn’t I?  The last time I saw you, you asked me to be your coach.  I thought that we…” Viktor trailed off, confusion painted plainly across his face.

“I…what?  I’ve never talked to you before,” Yuuri responded.

“Of course you did.  Last year at the banquet after the Final – you danced, _we_ danced, and then you asked me to be your coach.  You never…you never reached out after that, though, and when you didn’t show up at Worlds, I thought that perhaps you had quit skating until your name was on the entry list for the Grand Prix.”

Yuuri felt his stomach do flips – he couldn’t remember what happened at the banquet last year.  He had assumed he had gotten a little drunk and went back to the hotel, no harm done.  “I didn’t…I asked you to _coach_ me?” Yuuri asked incredulously.

“I was quite looking forward to it,” Viktor confirmed, his voice tinged with sadness.  “I never heard from you about it, though.”

“I didn’t…I _don’t_ remember,” Yuuri amended, “ _any_ of that.”

Viktor stiffened next to him.  “Don’t remember?” he echoed, suddenly sounding very unsure about everything.

“I got very drunk.  My dog had just died, and then my performance was a _disaster_ …” Yuuri attempted to explain.

Next to him, Viktor breathed air out through his nose in a harsh sigh.  Yuuri flinched, then froze as Viktor’s arms curled around him tighter than before.  “Lyubov, I’m so sorry,” he said gently, sounding entirely sincere despite Yuuri still not understanding the strange word.  And why shouldn’t he be sincere?  Viktor had always been a very polite competitor, a perfect gentleman, and now Yuuri’s _soulmate_.

But he surely couldn’t actually _want_ Yuuri to be his soulmate, could he?

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri admitted.

“Understand what, lyubov?” Viktor asked, and there was that word again.

“Why you want this; why you want… _me_.  I’m nothing but a failure.  Couldn’t skate for my country, couldn’t make my parents proud, couldn’t say goodbye…”  As tears began to pool in his eyes, Yuuri realized for the first time that the weight he had carried for so long, or at least part of it, was connected to Vicchan.  He had never even gone home to say goodbye – he never had the chance.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor said softly, his breath ghosting over Yuuri’s cheeks.  “Yuuri, you’re not a failure.  I watched you yesterday, you know.  I couldn’t take my eyes off you.  Your performance was utterly captivating.”

“I missed two jumps!” Yuuri protested.  “It was an utter failure, just like everything else.”

“Your components were nearly as high as mine,” Viktor said with a raised eyebrow.  “If you hadn’t fallen, they would have been identical.  I wouldn’t call that an utter failure.”  Yuuri knew that was true – his components score had definitely been impacted by his fall, but the rest of the performance had been…well, if not a failure, at least adequate.  “You inspire me, Yuuri.”

The simple words didn’t make sense, though.  He, _Yuuri_ , inspired _Viktor Nikiforov?_   How did that happen?

“You know,” Viktor began conversationally, “last season, I could never give my free program the performance it deserved.  _Stammi Vicino._ I never had the inspiration to give it the life it needed.  Now, I do,” Viktor said with something akin to awe in his voice.  “Stay close to me, Yuuri.  Be my soulmate,” Viktor said as he leaned close to Yuuri’s face, his nose nuzzling just beneath his ear, “and let me be yours.”

It all sounded so…fantastical.  Sure, Yuuri had gotten blackout drunk before, but to get drunk and wake up in bed with soulmate, let alone find out his soulmate was _Viktor Nikiforov_?

If Yuuri had been dreaming, he would have said yes to Viktor immediately, but his anxiety-riddled mind forced him to first asked, “What does…what does lyub- lyubo-” he stammered, trying to replicate the delicate word Viktor had uttered before.

“Lyubov?” Viktor supplied.  At Yuuri’s nod, he smiled.  “ _Lyubov_.  Love.  Which is what you are to me, lyubov, and I hope you’ll…I hope you’ll let me continue to call you that.”  For the first time that morning – well, afternoon – Viktor felt uncertain.  Speaking the words aloud, asking for permission to call Yuuri his love and to _love him_ left Viktor feeling more unbalanced than the shakiest of landings he had ever had.  His stomach was in an uproar, doing more quad flips than he had ever attempted in his life.

Where Viktor was uncertain, though, his explanation left Yuuri feeling more secure than ever.  “ _Lyubov_ ,” he repeated.  “I like it.  And…yes.  _Da_ , Viktor,” he murmured, pressing his face close to Viktor’s until his world was centered on those blue eyes and the gentle brushing of their noses against one another.  _And for perhaps the first time ever_ , Yuuri thought, _I’m not quite glad that I got drunk…but I’m glad I ended up_ here _._   “I’ll be your soulmate.  But only if you be my coach.”

As the sun blazed through the window, the only sounds in the room their quiet breathing as they cuddled their soulmates close and the scratching of Makkachin’s nails at the bedroom door, Viktor couldn’t help but think that _all of this_ was an offer Viktor couldn’t refuse.

**Author's Note:**

> Some translations for you just in case: Dobroye utra, solnyshko: Good morning, sun/sunshine.
> 
> Shoutout to my lovely friend Moon for reading this over for me before posting <3
> 
> Let me know if you're as much of a sucker for soulmate AUs as I am. Twue Wuv and all that goodness! <3


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